


six of one, half a dozen of the other

by Medie



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: fic_promptly, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" Life is a numbers game and the prayer on everyone's lips is to see the numbers add up in their favor." Sophia faces the morning ritual of the patrols coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	six of one, half a dozen of the other

**Author's Note:**

> written for the fic_promptly prompt:Sophia never ran off.

They lose one of the patrol teams in the night. Sophia sees Carl's face as he comes back and knows. Wrapping her sweater tighter around her, she goes to the front door to meet him. It was his night out and it was a bad one.

She tries not to blame herself, superstition makes you stupid and gets you killed, but it's difficult. She's led patrol the last two nights and the only kills they had were walkers; now they're down six. 

Carl hands off his gun to Trish at the door, then turns to Sophia. He scratches his cheek as he does and she hides a smile. He hasn't shaved in a day or two, maybe three, and it almost covers the scar running the length of his face. 

"You look like your father," she says, quiet, so the others won't hear. Most of them haven't never met Rick, but they've heard of him all the same and they're eager for more. It isn't that they've tried to cultivate any kind of mystery around them, Sophia won't allow it, but it's sprung up among the others anyway. Some of the ones that have been with them the longest have heard stories and pass them along in the night when she's not around. 

Carl smiles at her, sheepish. He doesn't mind them telling the stories, she knows that, has told a few himself. "Should shave, huh?"

She shakes her head. "I like it." The lighter moment passes and she looks over his shoulder at the survivors straggle in. There are new faces in their midst and she can guess what happened.

"Caravan?"

He nods. "Hit a herd a town over. They lost pretty much everything." 

They don't get the herds much since they moved north, trading off the warmer climate for the snow that slows walkers down, but sometimes a group will make it. The cities still belong to the dead, but they've started to empty as walkers wander off in search of food. 

This is the first herd they've had since last spring. 

"And we lost six," she says, sighing.

He nods. "Three in the fight. One got bit and the others disappeared." It happens more than she'd like, but it's the way things are. All the training and experience means shit in the middle of a herd. People go missing; sometime they turn up, sometime they get bit, and sometimes you never know for sure. 

Carl looks at her with the unspoken question in his eyes. This is always her call. 

"Who's still out there?" 

It's just past dawn, but it's automatic to look at the sky and calculate hours. Patrol at night is one thing; searches are quite another. She won't lead searches after dark and she won't let anyone else either. The dead don't care about the time of day, but she does. It's dangerous enough when you can see what's in front of you. 

"Alvarez and Jensen."

Decision made. No one is invaluable now and there are odds so high that Carl will not even come for her. Life is a numbers game and the prayer on everyone's lips is to see the numbers add up in their favor.

Alvarez and Jensen are second generation military, the children of a group that had saved Daryl and her mother when Sophia was a teenager. They still trade with them time to time.

That wouldn't be enough on its own, but their use to the group now definitely is. If anyone could come out of a herd bite-free and survive until rescue; it's them and she's got to give them the chance while she's got it. 

"Go get something to eat and some rest." Carl smiles when she runs a hand down his arm, squeezing once as she does. "Judith made stew." She starts putting a team together in her head, planning a supply run while they're at it. 

He passes her by, heading in search of his sister and the promised breakfast, and she's content to let him go as she watches the other patrol filter in. Some are escorting one or two new faces, most of whom are teenagers and children, and it gets hard to breathe.

There are too many betrayals and too many hidden bites behind her to trust new faces now. Maybe, in time, some of them will find a place among them and she'll learn to call them friends, but not now. Now they'll be stripped, checked for bites and weapons, and questioned before they're given food, fresh clothes, and a place to sleep apart from the main group.

She stopped trusting people a long time ago. She stopped regretting it not long after.

Of everything, it's the only loss she doesn't regret.


End file.
